


Lavender and Blood

by Eldritch_Salamander



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Beast transformation, Gen, Sedative Use, agaur parasites, chalice dungeon set up, cut-diagloge Micolash, pre-canon storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 21:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18302576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldritch_Salamander/pseuds/Eldritch_Salamander
Summary: The short story of a tomb hunter who gets far too close to the eldritch truth and the school of mensis than she ever thought possible. A string of accidents brought about by bad luck and a desire to serve a grander purpose drags the tomb hunter Corbett from huntress to the hunted. As bad as beasthood is it may just be the ultimate form of freedom that she desires.Fear the old blood and ones that aspire to meet beings above our comprehension. We are all beasts bound in society’s chains and just begging to be let free on a mood lit night.





	Lavender and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Been meaning to get this done after losing all of my stuff in a house fire a while ago. I wanted to share my oc tombhunter Corbett's backstory and how she became a beast as well as her messed up interactions with others.  
> Of course, I do not own the right to bloodborne stuff.  
> This will have a lot of blood and some sedative induced hallucinations. After all frenzy is one way to get started on hallucinogens.

If there was ever a way for man to reach the cosmos it would be in the Great Izz chalice.

The air was heavy and in it a miasma swirled and churned what looked like stardust and the cosmos in the third layer of the chalice. The blue glowing lichens and mosses that draped over the walls and every surface gave the hallways and corridors an ethereal appearance as if the ground beneath one’s feet would disappear just as the miasma did. This chalice was both a blessing and a curse for Corbett the lone tomb hunter for she had worked hard to get down here but was growing exhausted by its environment. Between the cold humid air and the miasma straining her vision she had trouble spotting enemies and traps alike. This was the last level for her to scrounge before returning to the surface with artifacts for the choir and a well-deserved rest. Her mind dwelled on whether she should return before finishing this level but the fear of returning empty handed and to a disapproving Lucien, her choir sponsor, made her stomach churn and chest tighten with anxiety. If she did not come back with something as good as her last gift, a chalice, she would surely be under-performing again. However, that was the issue, she was the last tomb prospector of her initial group as the other seven or so had gone mad and she dispatched them much to her displeasure. When she was initiated with the other prospectors mostly hunter or choir by trade they were never told how much the eldritch truth or secrets of the tombs would taught their minds. Many of those bright individuals were talented but not ready for the mind weight of the eldritch truth.  It was almost as if man was never meant to be in these chalice dungeons. 

Gripping her head lightly the tomb hunter kept on but between the glowing lights and unnaturally eerier air the hallways toyed with her senses. She stumbled her footing lacking the quick responses she usually had but she kept on despite the desire to rest gnawing at her.  Was it the cold, exhaustion, anxiety or the eldritch air that caused her to feel so numb and fall behind? Her mind spun and lurched, and she stopped, trying to clear all these relentless thoughts from messing with her mission. She reminded herself that she had to find artifacts for the choir, she had to finish this level, she had to make something of herself as this was her only shot. A mixture of determination and fear spurred her on to a brisk jog as her long tomb prospector’s robes fluttered, the shawl of the choir thrashed out behind her. There was something about the long heavy robes and layers of the prospector set that made her feel safe, even brave in these crawling ruins yet in the height of her anxiety fueled frenzy she felt them tighten ravenously at her throat. The beasts she hunted were far too close, their scent clung to the coat reminding her that one day they would lock jaws and tear her throat out. She reminded herself she was not going crazy and certainly would not lose her mind in here, the soothing scent of lavender hit her as she rummaged into her high collar again for her small diffuser necklace. With trembling hands cold with sweat the diffuser rattled its precious lavender bundle losing potency obviously needing care but it had been too long since then. A sweet plague doctor, very cute young lady with the most soothing voice, had given her the diffuser and told her to keep the sweet-smelling herbs to ease her restless soul. Idly she thought about the doctor, but the name eluded her like always, thinking if things were different she could have courted her and had a nice quite life. Wistful thoughts best kept here in the dungeon where only the gods and their servants could hear her lest they care at all.

Rounding another long corridor and entering a small treasure room she relaxed and scuffed her feet again brushing up a plume of moss spores that mixed with the incense lanterns. With a quick swipe of her unlit boomhammer the hunter scathed the floor in a sweeping pattern knocking over any small ceramic figures and statues one or two being traps she was certain of it. The repetitious patterns of the rooms made her paranoid about traps, which lead to falling into those very traps. There lay for her a single chest that was rotting at the edges glowing with lichens and mosses like an eerie halo. Slowly opening it she was let down because it just held the hollow shells of what she was seeking. Picking up one of the empty phasma shells she found it still oozing an arcane haze that glowed even brighter on her thick leather gloves.  
  
                Dejected by another unfulfilling chest the shells were tucked away in a thick leather pouch for gifts and treasures retrieved for the choir after all that was why she was down here. It still felt as though these past few levels were a waste of time as she had only found ritual ingredients and no new weapons or eldritch organisms for experiments. She was notoriously lucky as she had found the Ize Root chalice and ever since then her choir contractor Lucien mandated more expeditions which seemed longer. But for how much longer would this luck run? The constant fear of becoming outdated, obsolete, or worse debilitated, sprung upon her fragile heart. The fear of losing everything was gnawing at her and she could not go back to her life before prospecting under the healing church.  Her family found her unsuitable for marriage for no man had found interest in an independent inquisitive woman. To hell with societal pressures and intergenerational obligations that were some socially accepted form of slavery in her burning heart. At least hunting beasts there was freedom in the hunt and respect in one’s competence. The freedom she felt during the hunt made her sympathize with the beasts she slayed.

A disturbingly sensual cold sensation began to slide up Corbett's shoulder and curl in an undulating sensation near her collar bone and down towards her navel jolting her from her self-depreciating thoughts. She quickly patted down her heavy robes and yanked at her high collar now feeling trapped and violated by this chilling sensation on her body. The numbing chill seemed to slide like a lover’s hand up her navel and back over her chest to her collar bone again like light fingertips walking her body. It bothered her how much it affected her like it was feeding off her loneliness. She had never been touched like that so how would her body recognize it let alone mimic such a distinct longing sensation?   Panic setting in she felt herself glancing all around for anything that would have caused this unnatural chill but found nothing on the large stone walls of the tunnel. With the sensation now numbing and ebbing away at her left shoulder she could at least calm herself and get her bearings. This dungeon just reeked of bad luck and this was only going to get worse.

Turning the corner and trailing down the stone stairs coated with the same ghostly lichen and draped in the miasma of the cosmos. Not realizing the eerily perfect circle of stones in the center or one of the descending steps the hunter's heavy leather boots crunching down the frozen lichens and illuminating a spiral of arcane. As fast as the luminating runes that lined the arcane trap little messengers grabbed onto her boots dragging her down before she could comprehend what was happening. Thrown out on the other side of the trap onto the blood-soaked stone floor of a large room humid from countless rotting remains that had been left her to fester. All around the hunter was at least 3 inches of blood and gristle like a marsh that billowed out steam mixed with the miasma of the lichens. Between the stench of rotting guts and the fall it was a struggle for Corbett to not hurl as she shakily stood clutching her boom hammer's pommel tightly. Chest heaving, she glanced around her heart frozen as four keeper’s hunting dogs red eyes fell upon here from all sides. The arcane trap had dropped her right into the slaughter ground of the warped beasts, these dungeons be damned! Her whole body panicked, and she felt the tight spiral of adrenaline in her stomach and the high-pitched roaring in her ears blocking out all sound and driving her backwards while priming back her hammer’s flint. There was no time to plan or scout out an escape, it was too much at once, too much blood, too much everything urging her on from only the most bestial of fears.

With a quick hard swing the boom hammer’s fiery path knocked one twisted dog into the far wall by surprise and on the recoiling swing devoid of flame clipped the second beast’s face throwing it backwards into the bog. While the hunter easily and jittery took out two beasts with ease it was clear she had danced with too much fever to notice her stage. Wriggling up were several small celestial children glistening, perfectly blended in with the watery visceral that drenched the floor. They squirmed toward her with ill intent on their disfigured forms. Usually she liked the little slug like eldritch babies but here they were far too nippy. One was close enough to latch onto her boot and bite through the thick leather and take a chunk from her calf muscle. Shrieking in panic Corbett swung her hammer violently clipping the stone floor between swings lighting the hammer flashing ember as the celestial children were flung and crushed in her frenzied state. The damage was done, the static drowning out her ears and the shards stabbing into her chest the huge knot of fear seemed to be burning like a red-hot branding iron in her chest.

Lunging forward with teeth and claws primed for her throat two of the remaining hounds attacked her. One was met with the fierce impact of a fully primed boomhammer taking the hounds head down to the stone floor and crushing it with great force. The other was clipped again by the hammer on the back swing but it sunk its teeth into Corbett’s left should before being dislodged by the brute force of the hammer. Two hounds down and mangled Corbett was not used to a close quarter fight, she had been one to bind her time in a fight, the hammer lending nicely to a hit and doge style. This could not go on much longer both exhaustion and frenzy were wearing her out.

Burning flesh and bone exposed around the barren muzzle, the first hound snarled its left eye now absent form its socket and gushing blood. It and the other hound now limping from a heavy hit to the ribs dashed forward flanking the tomb hunter.  She drew her blunderbuss quickly shooting the mangled hound down while she swung her harmer upward smashing the second hound up towards the low stone ceiling splitting its ribs and feeling the resistance of its muscles break. Trying to doge backwards Corbet’s feet slipped on the gristle and the mangled hound lunged forward its burned skin peeling from its face and splashing backwards against its horns. Rushed she aimed her blunderbuss and fired as the hound collided with her but it exploded in shrapnel tearing apart both her and the hound.

She now lay in the blood and grime on the floor of the dungeon her hammer and blunderbuss were several feet away from her and now able to see the blunderbuss’s barrel was flayed open from the inside. An intense cold crackling burned her whole left-hand and forearm and her vision was clouded with blood. Whimpering she cradled the now mangled remains of her hand trying to stand but collapsing onto her knees. A low growling that was cut with gurgling and gushing announced that the hound despite most of its lower jaw now suspended by a ligament and tongue hanging out was still very intent on killing her. She wanted to just scream in pain and frustration and she slipped again unable to reach her hammer and out of any throwable weapons. The chilling undulating sensation burned at her navel and slid up her shoulders melting to the throbbing mess that was her left arm. Spurred on by the now final shards of frenzy signaling she would die soon, she screamed out at the hound. “You damned beast, you damned dungeon let me die with at least a little dignity you foul abomination!”

Howling out she braced for the impact her left arm outstretched in an act to persevere what little dignity she had left Instead of the beast colliding and pinning her in a final gruesome mauling, a blast of bright light and several long lavender tendrils burst forth crushing the mangled hound up against the ceiling of the tomb. The tendrils pulsed through the hounds mangled body spewing the rest of its corpse outwards in chunks before swinging violently back towards her and causing her to collapse back on the ground. Curled up on the ground her heart spasming from frenzy and vision going black Corbett saw what had saved her, a little glowing aguar that was crawling up her chest towards her face. Was this that weird feeling she had earlier? It touched her face softly its slime leaving a bone chilling sensation as ghostly as the miasma of the tomb, it was obviously arcane. Her eye sight faded, and she would awaken in the hunters dream hopefully to not dwell on what had happened.

Dungeons be damned the arcane seemed to favor those who were mad or extremely lucky. Everything else considered Corbett thought she was the unluckiest person alive right now but maybe the eldritch gods pitied her. Pity from creatures she awed would be good enough if it kept her alive for mankind gave her nothing but sweet nothings and broken dreams.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tracing burned fingertips over bandages hiding a shameful mistake the disgraced tomb hunter paces anxiously outside of the archway into her choir sponsor Lucien’s office. The fingers that were left on her disfigured left hand trembled in the fresh bandages and still burned terribly from the blunderbuss exploding brilliantly into shrapnel the other day.  It was a punishing reminder, throbbing and burning as if the charred scarring still smoldered with shrapnel and quicksilver. Resting was not an option to her as she felt that the lost of her hand and eyesight, even as temporary as the doll reassured her it would be, was not punishment enough. Self-flagellation would ease her guilty mind, clawing her pale flesh and denying herself sleep surely would appease them. She had been dreading her follow up meeting since the accident as Lucien’s harsh tone and distained gaze would be salt in her very fresh wounds that amplified her anxiety over the whole mistake. The words “you’re a waste of time “and a failure of a hunter why did I even sponsor you in the first place” tightened like a coiled snake in her throat as she swore that’s what Lucien would say while looming over her snarling. She thought knee deep in gore that those twisted hound’s jaws and malice were the worst she would ever face but they played like little lambs in comparison to how Lucien glared at her. Maybe he was a cleric beast, but he did not know it, yet she mused at least getting herself to giggle.  


The scent of fresh lavender and rosemary from the diffuser still rusted from the blood seemed to be failing her and with shaky hands she downed a sedative as if she was preparing for a fight with a mighty beast. The herbs now replenished were not working to calm the hunter, but they held thoughts of a happier life, therefore unable to be discarded. The heavy scent of calming herbs clung to her heavy robes and it followed her around like a second shroud in dark contrast to the extreme anxiety she held. It was nice to be one of the only hunters that did not reek of blood and filth after a hunt. Trailing her left index finger gingerly around the rim of the sedative bottle, the small groves and imperfections enrapturing her, drowning out the loud roaring anxiety, forced her to stop angling her head slightly up gazing up at the cosmos in her distorted vision. The full body spasm and icy tingling elicited a gasp from the hunter and lulling her off into her own dream far from the church, isolated and unaware of her surroundings yet again.

“This was rather disappointing, I was hoping Bennet would have returned. He was one of our most promising church hunters”

“I know but last I have seen he had gone mad in the defiled Great Ize chalice, “Lucien spoke with dejection in his voice as the young hunter Bennet had been dispatched only a few days prior. What a shame such talented ones go mad as it looks terrible on his reputation. “Maybe the next prospectors will have more willpower than this lot, as it difficult to find those talented young hunters willing to go into the tombs.”

“Do not consort me with these matters again for I expect you to be more than capable “Amelia’s tone sank like fangs into Lucien as she spoke. “Carry out what we discussed for her and see if she can still live up to her past performance.”

“Yes Vicar, I will see to it done”

Lucien stood ridged in front of the vicar and while she was shorter than him she commanded respect and subservience by title and her gaze. Despite his eyes covered by the blind fold cap of the choir Lucien still avoided Amelia’s gaze. He swore she was a wolf in a holy shawl by the way she spoke to him. Bringing up his plan to find use for the failure that was his most recent hunter Corbett made him very uneasy around her as the vicar seemed more tense with the blood moon coming in the next month.               

The vicar quickly walked off her bright eyes piercing into Lucien like icy daggers and he was thankful to Odeon that she was gone. He took a moment to readjust himself in the office with the large oak desk and bookshelves around him seeming for once to be slightly overbearing. He gazed down at his manuscripts and recollected his thoughts as he leaned against the edge of his desk still standing but shoulders slack. How many groups of hunters had he lost since the last blood moon? Seven or was it nine? Most of them had been chewed up into gristle by beasts or each other. 

Corbett had snapped out of her sedative induced daze to the quick clicking of boots of tile and heard the Vicar walking past her quickly, immediately she dropped her gaze despite having her eyes bandaged up it was more out of intimidation. The constant sedative use had left the tomb hunter fumbling and dissociative, but it was all she could do when anxiety struck. Pausing for a moment the Vicar glanced down at the hunter taking note at the bandages over her eyes and the gnarled remains of her left forearm bound up to her shoulder. It was a sorry sight to see but the church held very little sympathy or empathy for the hunters that failed.

 “What a shame and you had such potential too, after that chalice,” The Vicar spoke at the hunter like she was an old hunting dog rather than a person.       

Gasping Corbett hunched over a bit with her left arm pressed firmly under her bosom trying to both hide and protect her dignity. The vicar left without another word and Corbett skittishly walked into Lucien’s office bumping into the door frame with her side but preferring to be near the choir member more than any vicar. At least with her eyesight temporarily gone the disgusted looks the members often gave her would not torment her. She was not a loyal member of the church and never would be, but she despised how she was treated like some type of animal by everyone. However, things would not have been much better if she had stayed in her homeland, moving to Yarnham from a seaside village up north had given her more options than a house wife or beggar she thought. Now she could beg in the city she thought to herself somberly as it seemed a pariah label followed in the tail of her robes.

“Finally, you decide to show up, so I can see how much trouble you have gotten yourself into,” Lucien snarled at her and Corbett knew he had a disgusted sneer in his voice just by how nasal his voice sounded. She felt so small and her mind blocked out the snappier remarks about how she had screwed up big time and had made herself useless as a hunter.  He walked around her inspecting her and occasionally poking or prodding at her damaged arm with the end of his threaded cane. It was humiliating to be gawked at like a fodder animal. That same uncomfortably intimate chilling sensation began at her left shoulder slowly crawling around her collar bone came back but it felt tight like a choker and she dreaded it now.  
“-let alone material to be wed. You are less a woman than a hunter and the church is disappointed in you but do not worry, we will find use for even a waste of talent like you Corb. You go to Yarhargul to recover and see what they are doing. I want you to find out what one of their head researchers, Micolash is doing. This is your one shot at redemption do not. I repeat do not screw this up.” Lucien finished his monologue to her and leaned down into her face, both of their eyes covered but she could feel the aggression in this gesture. She just grimaced and the pain of her wounds and the lecture she had received almost forgetting she would now be stuck in a place she dreaded as much as the dungeons, whatever the heck Yarhargul was.  
               

“Now go, get out of my office. You will find someone there to help you- but do not come back to me until you have a report” Lucien roughly grabbed her left shoulder which she winced and pushed the prospector out of his office to which she stumbled and fell on one knee out into the open space of the church hallway. Bowing to the task and to the church, the hunter’s strength failed, and she remained on the floor crouched low and in thought.  At least she would be away from all this unbearable supervision and derogatory comments for a little while. Hopefully the school of Mensis was not as cruel as the Choir.


End file.
